Oral Fixation
by klytaemnestra
Summary: Rufus, a gun, do the math. Tseng's handgunxRufus, yaoi implications and such.


Notes: Ehm … what can I say about this? I'm weird. Yeah. Dedicated to N23 for her birthday and convincing me to actually write this. Part of my on-going arc of stories in collaboration with Finding Beauty.

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_Oral Fixation_

Raised in a tower of glass and steel with subordinates catering and pandering to his every whim, Rufus Shinra is not one to be denied anything. But Tseng is neither willing to play the part of subordinate nor cater to the young heir. It is a foreign position to be in and he finds himself often plotting a way to remedy this and make the Turk finally bend to his demands.

Looking up from his daily reading, he does little to conceal his desire and want of the Turk as Tseng moves about the apartment gathering up the keys to his sleek sedan and tucking a thin envelope into his coat. His light eyes are set on each movement, the flex and pull of lean muscle beneath the fine tailoring of his navy suit coat. Tseng knows it, senses the way the boy watches him and knows of the underlying desire that he tactfully avoids. Rufus has been playing at the game for weeks.

He says nothing, checking his wristwatch and offers the boy seated at the desk the smallest of nods before turning out the door and into the upper halls of the east wing. And Rufus watches with a type of longing laced with underlying rage at his bodyguard's insistent nature. Would it do that much harm to simply taste the forbidden fruit when it is laid out so willingly before Tseng?

Rufus knows he will not be able to focus about his studies now and pushes the textbook away. Over the past several weeks he has found himself increasingly distracted, the dark haired Wutaian endlessly entering his thoughts when left alone. Quite often he's let his fantasies get the better of him, hands touching himself imagining it were Tseng.

Until today he's had no external link to the object of his fantasies, nothing to heighten the pleasure, to make it somehow more real and not a seemingly futile desire.

The gun he withdraws from the desk drawer is Tseng's. Standard Turk issue still slotted with nearly mastered material. He ejects the clip and tucks it back away into the drawer. He smiles a little, slender fingertips dancing along the sleek lines of the pistol knowing that it is perhaps the most intimate link he might have with the Turk. Something that has saved Tseng's life countless times and taken the lives of many others, his standard mark of Turk and greatest possession.

He sighs just barely and runs the cool metal of the barrel along his parted lips. 'Tseng,' he breathes, tongue darting out to trace the contour as his free hand deftly unfastens his white slacks and slips inside to palm the hardness. Another sigh of the Turk's name escapes his lips, this time louder as he increases his pace. Tongue curling around the muzzle, he pretends it is Tseng, hard and hot and finally submitting to Rufus' advances and giving him what he craves. He's close, so very close.

The soft click of polished loafers against marble tile break him from his lust hazed reverie, and he starts violently dropping the pistol as he stands. Instinct is to bolt, or demand the Turk away. But he remains there deathly still, cheeks flushed from desire, slacks undone.

Tseng eyes him for a long moment understanding now just why his pistol was missing. He counts himself lucky for discovering its theft before leaving and starts to berate the boy for his carelessness in taking his means of defence. He moves closer, crossing the room in a few short steps as Rufus turns away to seek the haven of his bedroom, Tseng pre-empting the move and catching him.

'Let me go!'

'Isn't this what you wanted?' Tseng asks evenly pinning the boy against the window, half gloved hands coming around the slender waist and slips one hand inside crisp pants, gripping the hardness firmly.

Rufus sighs hotly, breath misting the windowpane as he rests his head against cool glass. A part of him is stunned as the Turk increases his rhythm, still not daring to believe that it is Tseng touching him. And he wants it to last so badly, wants it to be as he has imagined with Tseng granting him full access to his body but he had been so close and he cannot fight against the spiralling sensations coiling taut in the base of his spine. The hardness he feels pressing against him is his undoing, the knowledge that the Turk desires him as well. He comes with a sudden cry, body trembling. Tseng holds him steady till the waves of pleasure ebb and then he is out the door and down the hall without a word spoken.

Rufus waits in a halfhearted anticipation for a kiss that never comes.

_fin_


End file.
